


Grace

by Nerdylittleangelenthusiast (Anderseeds)



Series: Supernatural Works [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Parenthood, Pregnant Castiel (Supernatural), Top Crowley (Supernatural), Trans Male Character, Trans Male Jimmy Novak, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28868253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anderseeds/pseuds/Nerdylittleangelenthusiast
Summary: The possibility of impregnation had never crossed his mind. Or Crowley’s, for that matter. It shouldn’t have been possible; not in a body carefully crafted to repel such things, not with them being what they were. They should have been reproductively incompatible. It was such an impossibility that angels and demons didn’t even have a word for what was growing inside of him. There were so many reasons this shouldn’t have happened, but it had; he was with child, and he hadn’t the faintest idea of what to do about it.When Castiel begins an intimate relationship with Crowley, neither of them think he can get pregnant. But things never did run smooth for them.
Relationships: Castiel & Jack Kline, Castiel/Crowley (Supernatural), Crowley & Jack Kline, Jack Kline & Dean Winchester, Jack Kline & Mary Winchester, Jack Kline & Sam Winchester
Series: Supernatural Works [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068692
Comments: 11
Kudos: 32





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> So, before reading: this fic features Castiel getting pregnant in the vessel Chuck creates for him following his/Jimmy’s death in season 5, and since the original vessel was a trans man, Castiel has the parts necessary for impregnation. He’s not a trans man himself, however, since that’s a human concept, so there isn’t much focus on the trans experience beyond Jimmy’s brief involvement in the story and Castiel’s foray into being human. The fic’s primary focus is parenthood/pregnancy/etc. 
> 
> Also, this fic incorporates the [deleted scene](https://youtu.be/Hi4YSGY57o0?t=97) from Road Trip in Season 9.

For a long time, Castiel hadn’t realised his vessel was different. It had everything he needed: limbs, fists, eyes, and a mouth, and he hadn’t felt any need to examine its fit beyond those features. It was suitable for his work, and that was what mattered.

Then a few weeks had passed, and Jimmy had nervously asked if his body was in ‘some kind of stasis’, or if medical intervention would be necessary to maintain his gender alignment. Castiel had been slow to understand. He’d seen people like Jimmy before, people who had been born with the wrong sex characteristics and made efforts to rectify that, but he’d never interacted with such a person, let alone occupied the vessel of one.

To further elucidate the situation, Jimmy kindly allowed him access to some memories. He only needed a few: the first memory was Jimmy announcing to his family at the kitchen table that he was a boy, actually, and his mother had nodded in understanding and curiously inquired if ‘that was why he liked girls’- which wasn’t the most tactful of questions to ask, but Jimmy’s laugh rang through his mind when they reached that part. Then Jimmy showed him a slew of visits to the doctor; a diagnosis, treatment, surgery. At the age of twenty-five, Jimmy looked into a mirror and finally liked what he saw.

Castiel had been observing humanity for millennia and still hadn’t witnessed the full extent of their ingenuity, and that they’d found a way to change one’s biology so extensively was endlessly impressive. At the end, he assured Jimmy that he would not lose the body he’d so carefully crafted for himself. It would stay the way it was meant to be. Castiel would make sure of that.

Though, it turned out that he hadn’t needed to worry, because in a scant few years – an impeccably short time for an angel – Jimmy ascended to heaven anyway, and a new body was forged for Castiel. Every molecule was made just for him. It didn’t feel like Jimmy’s had felt; it was stronger and had a greater capacity. Could have housed an archangel, he thought, and it housed a Seraphim through all his trials and tribulations with ease.

He didn’t give his body much thought beyond appraising it for its usefulness. Not until Crowley, anyway.

* * *

“I seal deals with a kiss,” Crowley told him. “ _All_ my deals.”

Castiel stared at him like he was insane. To approach an angel with such a proposition, you would have to be.

“I’ll be gentle,” Crowley assured him, which wasn’t the problem.

“I’m not your usual emptor, and this isn’t that kind of deal,” he said. “A kiss is pointless. We can secure it some other way.”

“If you want the souls, you’ll have to do it _my_ way.”

It was a power play. Even naive as he’d been at that time, Castiel had known that. Crowley wanted to exert his power over Castiel, show him how much his help was needed, and show them _both_ what lengths Castiel would go to get it.

And he’d been right to assume Castiel would eventually acquiesce. All Crowley needed to do to get what he wanted was slyly mention that Castiel could always go back to Dean Winchester if he didn’t want Crowley’s help; Dean would be willing to discard his happiness to prevent the resurgence of the apocalypse, and that was just terrible but-

He was the one to push their lips together in the hopes of preserving what little dignity he had left. Crowley slipped a hand behind his head and tangled his fingers into his hair, licking the seam of his lips open so he could stick a swelteringly hot tongue past his incisors and into the depths of his mouth. It felt good. Castiel just stood there, slack jawed, with not the faintest idea of how to give or receive a proper kiss, but it still felt good, and when Crowley withdrew, he was left hot and dazed and confused.

It wasn’t until much later that he identified his body’s reaction as arousal. Not until the pizza man; not until Meg guided him through a kiss and he drew back from it with flushed skin and dilated pupils and an odd warmth deep in his pelvis- all reactions he recognised from his time with Crowley. If he’d given the kiss with Crowley greater thought, he probably would have been confused and shamed to realise how deeply he’d enjoyed it, but his mind had quickly turned to the task at hand and the necessary deceptions.

He hadn’t expected there to be any more intimacy. Crowley made pithy remarks implying it, occasionally propositioned him, but he’d expected that first kiss to be the end of it. And then came the jar of blood necessary to reach purgatory.

“Uh uh,” Crowley said when he reached for it, wagging a finger at him and holding the jar away. “I think I’ve earned myself a celebratory kiss.”

Castiel considered simply taking it from him. With his ability to traverse space in seconds, it would be easy enough. But keeping Crowley off guard was essential to his plan; he needed Crowley to hand it to him, linger for his rant, then skitter off and bring Raphael to him. He needed Crowley angry enough to approach an archangel, and he needed him to believe Castiel was neither clever nor powerful enough to deceive both him and the aforementioned archangel. It was the only way he could preserve the lives of the angels who would fight at Raphael’s side in heaven. There had already been too many deaths. He wanted to bring an end to the Civil War with as little bloodshed as possible.

So he sighed and leaned in. Crowley met him halfway and curled his fingers at the back of his head, keeping him still while he plundered his mouth with all the greed one would expect from the King of Hell. His tongue scorched the surface of Castiel’s grace, leaving it tender, aching, and it should have hurt, but that only exacerbated how damned good it felt. Perhaps that was why he didn’t resist when Crowley’s fingers flicked his trousers open and slipped inside. They paused briefly, upon feeling what exactly was between his legs, but then Crowley simply chuckled into his mouth and began to rub his thumb insistently over a delicate enlarged bulb there.

The pleasure that zigzagged through Castiel was electric. He arched into it and gripped at Crowley’s shoulders, mindless in his pursuit for more. He reached his precipice within seconds and finished so hard and fast that every part of him shuddered and an involuntary cry left his throat.

His body throbbed pleasantly after. He was shaky, and dazed, and sweaty in a way he hadn’t known he could be sweaty, and still he accepted the jar and said, “Flee or die.”

* * *

A lot happened over the next few years. His brief foray into humanity meant his body required the same kind of maintenance Jimmy had given it, and he hadn’t realised this until blood started to dot the only pair of underwear he owned.

He approached Nora in the absence of anyone else he could talk to. It had taken some explanation before her eyes opened wide, full of understanding, and she pulled him into the back room for a proper discussion.

“How long have you been off HRT?”

The word was familiar. It’d come up in the memories Jimmy had provided.

He understood what was happening to him too, then.

“Two months,” he decided was the correct answer.

“Don’t worry,” she said, closing a hand over his. “I have a nephew in your situation. He’ll be able to help.”

So, he’d received a phone number, and the person he called had found him a passage to HRT, at least until he had enough money to go through the proper channels. He took an injection exactly twice, then he consumed grace and that was enough to sustain his body in its current state. It came as a relief, because frankly, he hadn’t relished the prospect of needing to wrangle together the money necessary for injections every two weeks for the rest of his life.

Between Metatron, Malachi, and Bartholomew, it would have been generous to call the years following living. It was mostly running from one danger to the next, desperately grappling for survival and fragmenting along the way. He’d thought himself as broken as he could get after the damage the Leviathan’s had wrought, but he’d been wrong. He still had parts his enemies could chip at, and each new horror fragmented him a little further, brought him lower than he could have ever conceived of being, until there was so little of him left among the self-loathing and fear that he couldn’t fathom how he kept moving forward.

But he did. Sam and Dean needed him; humanity needed him; his family needed him, so he lugged himself forward through the fog of fear and self-loathing and tried to be what they needed him to be.

* * *

In pursuit of a solution to Sam’s possession, he and Crowley were forced into close quarters again. Exceptionally close quarters, since they ended up in a hotel together, perched on the end of the bed while waiting for Dean to get himself fed and hydrated and gather information for the trip ahead. They spoke about humanity, how difficult it was, how turbulent, without acknowledging that being what they were hadn’t treated them any better.

And then, casually, Crowley propositioned him.

“Since we have a partnership of a sort, we ought to seal it with a kiss,” he said, and Castiel snorted and told him to find entertainment elsewhere. Which made it a little embarrassing when Crowley leaned in for a kiss anyway and Castiel let him.

After a few minutes of kissing and fondling, he stuck a hand down Castiel’s trousers and stroked him to completion, and Castiel just barely managed to get himself presentable before Dean came storming back into the room.

They found each other again through each turbulent year.

“This is wrong,” Castiel said the third time Crowley brought their lips together and reached for his zipper.

“This is undignified,” he said the sixth time, melting into Crowley’s exploring hands.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he moaned the ninth time, craning his head back as Crowley’s lips found his throat and his practised fingers closed over his pulsing clit. Then came a new first: he opened his legs to Crowley and drew him between them, his palm moulding around the shape of Crowley’s cock through his trousers.

Lips were bitten, skin was bruised, clothes were fumbled out of the way and then Castiel was wet and needy and Crowley was all too happy to give him what he wanted. Firm hands lifted him off the mattress and guided a thick cock into him inch by delectable inch, so slowly that Castiel felt every ridge and crevice of Crowley’s cock in profound detail. He sheathed himself with a gentleness that Castiel wouldn’t have thought Crowley capable of, but there he was, sliding in slowly, making sure he didn’t batter and tear lining that had never before been stimulated in this way.

Their inhuman stamina meant they managed to go several rounds without need for rest. By the time they were satiated enough to stop, they were both thoroughly dishevelled, flushed, and sweaty, their bellies and thighs slick with come and skin covered in dapples of red and purple. Castiel had a particularly vivid bite mark around his left nipple. He could have healed all his blemishes, turned his skin back into an untouched canvas, but he didn’t.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” he said the moment he recovered enough to speak, but he hadn’t hated it. He didn’t hate himself as a consequence of their intimacy either. If anything, this felt like a natural progression of their relationship.

Crowley turned over and offered the most lopsided smile Castiel had ever seen on the man’s face. “And we most certainly shouldn’t do it again, but that hasn’t stopped us so far, and I doubt it’ll stop us at this point.”

He was right, for the most part. The only thing Crowley hadn’t anticipated was that ‘it’ would eventually expand beyond intimacy. Oh, that’s what it’d been in the beginning; they’d have sex, lay in bed together for a while to bask in the afterglow, and then part. No emotional involvement; just a pursuit of pleasure, escaping their responsibilities through each other’s body.

But then they started speaking to each other. Not out of necessity, like all their other conversations had been, but like old friends, exchanging stories and experiences and discussing topics that were unique to the non-human experience. They spoke about the trials of being human and non-human and how it impacted their palate, their capacity for sensation, their perception of time, and sometimes even their emotions (though that one tended to only come up after Crowley had indulged in a few glasses of drink). They also spoke about their relationships, their work, and sometimes even trivial things, like what kinds of foods they liked or how they liked to style their hair.

Without Castiel even realising it, Crowley had become a friend.

* * *

In the present, he cursed Crowley. He cursed him despite the fact he knew full well it was as much his fault as it was Crowley’s that his and Kelly’s journey to their safehouse had been interrupted by the being within him making its presence known. It’d very nearly sent him crashing into a roadside barrier. If not for Kelly leaping into action, twisting them back onto the road, they might’ve only ended up with one child to worry about.

The possibility of impregnation had never crossed his mind. Or Crowley’s, for that matter. It shouldn’t have been possible; not in a body carefully crafted to repel such things, not with them being what they were. They should have been reproductively incompatible. It was such an impossibility that angels and demons didn’t even have a word for what was growing inside of him. There were so many reasons this shouldn’t have happened, but it had; he was with child, and he hadn’t the faintest idea of what to do about it.

“Are you alright?” asked Kelly, and Castiel didn’t know how to respond, because he didn’t think he’d ever been less alright.

“It’s two days journey to the cabin,” was the answer he eventually decided upon.

“Castiel,” said Kelly gently. “You almost crashed the car.”

“Everything will be alright,” said Castiel. “I promise, Kelly.”

“Castiel-”

“I’ll explain everything soon.”

Kelly acquiesced then, turning a frown on the passenger door window.

He couldn’t tell her they were both pregnant. Not yet. He didn’t know how to explain it, what to say. He needed time to put together an explanation and a plan to go along with it. It would cause Kelly nothing but stress if he told her without a clue as to what to do about it, particularly as it was likely the conception had been heard by his brethren regardless of how many wards he had in place.

They made six stops during their journey. Twice because Kelly was suffering from nausea, and four more times for the loo, food, and other such necessities. The drive was largely quiet and pensive, interrupted every so often with moments of idle chatter and the radio turned low. Kelly was no doubt thinking about her child and his future, and Castiel thought about both of their children, his thoughts torrential and troubled.

He couldn’t kill the child; he knew that much. He’d known the moment he felt it that he wanted to give it the same chance to do good and be good that he was extending Kelly’s child. He trusted the Nephilim, and he trusted they would have a place in the paradise they had promised Castiel for a child just as strange and impossible as itself.

Once born, it would be powerful – he could surmise that it wouldn’t be as powerful as a Nephilim from how long it’d taken to present itself and the milder introduction it’d had, but it would be powerful all the same. Probably closer to a fully powered Cambion in ability. It would need nurturing and guidance, just like the Nephilim, and he was dizzied by the prospect of raising two unimaginably powerful children at the same time. He’d barely been able to cope with Nora’s child, let alone two exceptional children birthed within a few months of each other.

By the time they pulled up to the homely little cabin he’d arranged, he’d barely the skeleton of a plan in mind. But they were safe here, well out of reach of anyone who could harm them or Kelly’s child – or his own, for that matter – and he’d promised her an explanation.

He got them set up in the lounge room and sat down on the couch, waiting for Kelly to acclimate. Once she’d familiarised herself with the house, Kelly joined him on the couch and handed him a cup of tea she’d made by heating water in the microwave, which he took out of politeness.

“So,” said Kelly, audibly nervous. “Something bad has happened, right?”

“Depends on your perspective,” said Castiel, taking a sip of his tea. It didn’t taste too bad. She’d watered it down enough to be tolerable to his oversensitive palate.

“Well…?” Kelly inclined her head. “What is it?”

“I’m-” Castiel looked at his knees. He’d gone over this conversation so many times in his head while driving and now he was pulling a blank on every word he’d rehearsed. He took a deep breath and set his saucer on his knee. “I thought about this a lot, this conversation, but it… hasn’t helped. I don’t really know what to say, how to explain it.”

Kelly’s eyebrows arched in concern. She leaned forward, hand sliding over his. “Go as basic as you can, then we’ll work it out from there.”

That seemed a good approach. Castiel nodded and said, simply, “I’m with child.”

Kelly blinked at him a few times, her gaze dropping to her own, bulbous belly, and Castiel leaned forward until her attention was back on him. “That’s not what I mean.” He set the teacup and saucer aside, taking one of her hands and bringing it to his belly, where an unnatural warmth emanated. A quality from its father, Castiel was sure.

Kelly’s eyes blew wide and she reared back, her mouth dropping open. “O-oh my God, did I-? Is that something I can-?”

“No,” said Castiel hastily. “No, it wasn’t you. You can’t impregnate angels just by being near them. You didn’t do this. I did it to myself.”

“But…” She swallowed, looking him up and down like there might be something on him that could explain what he was saying. Without his clothes in the way, maybe she would have figured it out, but since they weren’t: “Can all angels get pregnant?”

“Just ones in vessels suited for it,” said Castiel. “This body was re-created from the design of a female to male trans man. I had assumed the parts necessary for conception were no longer functioning, but that’s clearly not the case.”

“Oh,” said Kelly, slowly. “Oh.” She sunk back into her cushion, still tense, but he expected that tension now had less to do with Castiel’s condition and everything to do with who might have noticed it. “You… you angels… fraternize with humans more than I would have expected.” She gave a nervous sort of titter. “So, there’s going to be two Nephilim?”

Castiel swallowed against a knot developing in his throat. He looked away. “There isn’t a word for what is growing inside me. It wasn’t conceived of a human and angel.”

“Two angels?” Kelly ventured.

Castiel shook his head. “An angel and a demon.”

A long silence fell. It was the first time in a long time that Castiel had felt ashamed of his and Crowley’s activities. Then Kelly slid a hand beneath his chin, pulling him around to face her, and she wasn’t frowning, wasn’t disgusted; she wore a small, understanding smile.

“Castiel, I’m currently carrying the child of Satan, and I’m doing it willingly. You aren’t going to receive any judgement from me.”

Castiel took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Besides,” said Kelly, letting her hand drop away, her warm brown eyes boring into his. “Jack having a sibling will be good for him.”

“Jack?” said Castiel, pleasantly surprised. “You named him Jack?”

“I’ve always liked that name,” said Kelly. “Have you thought of names…?”

Castiel shook his head. Naming the being hadn’t even occurred to him. It was a human practice. All angels had known their name upon creation.

“Well, there’ll be time for that,” said Kelly, but then her companionable tone dropped away into something troubled. “I mean, as long as we’re actually safe. We are safe, right?”

This had renewed the target on their backs, but he was confident after their two-day drive that they hadn’t been discovered and weren’t being pursued. He would have noticed. With this new being throbbing inside him and emanating a power beyond his own, he might have even felt it.

“We are,” he assured her. “We’re safe here, completely isolated. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I’d say we have a _little_ to worry about,” said Kelly, laughing softly. A laugh that sounded less humoured and more bewildered. She sunk deeper into the couch, taking a rejuvenating gulp of her own tea before diving back into their conversation. “May I ask who the father is?”

Castiel rubbed at the nape of his neck. “The current reigning King of Hell.”

“Ah.” When Kelly laughed this time, it was genuinely amused. “I’m in good company, then.”

She took the news with such grace that it eased Castiel’s tension.

“It’s a long story,” he said with a wavering smile.

“So is mine,” said Kelly, returning his smile. “But we don’t have to exchange them. I’d say the present is more important.”

“Thank you, Kelly.”

After their conversation, they moved on to preparing the house, wiping clean every surface and emptying out a room that would serve as a nursery for both Jack and Castiel’s child. The house was what humans might call a ‘fixer-uper’ – a word Castiel knew courtesy of Metatron – and he had to do a considerable amount of cleaning and repairing before he felt it was habitable.

After a week, Kelly sent him into the nearest town for paint and stencils. He came back with more than what she’d asked for, just to be cautious.

The next time he went out, Kelly accompanied him, and they brought back as many diapers as his money could buy and two cribs. Further purchases would need to be made later, but they had the necessities; food, diapers, sippy cups, and a place for the children to sleep, so Castiel would worry about things like toys and a play pen when they weren’t so close to Jack’s birth.

“So,” said Kelly while setting down an old sheet in preparation to paint the nursery. She’d sketched a design, so all that was left was to make it a reality. “Have you decided a name yet? I want to paint theirs too.”

Castiel set a hand on his stomach, pensive. There was no bulge there yet, not even the slightest hint of a mound, but the heat his child emanated assured him that something was there. He felt that his child was going to get a girl. She would probably appreciate a feminine name, in that case. Or maybe a gender-neutral one, in case she realised she wasn’t a girl at some point, like Jimmy had. He wasn’t sure how these things were supposed to be done, what considerations one should have.

“I think,” he said, finally. “I should speak to the father.”

Kelly raised an eyebrow at that. “The King of Hell?”

“Yes,” he said, and he didn’t blame her for the incredulous look she sent him. “Our union wasn’t unwilling, and I owe him this much. He deserves to know about her and have input on her name.”

“Will you be alright?” Kelly set down an armful of sheet to approach him, raising a hand to his forearm, holding lightly. “He won’t hurt you? He won’t hurt the child?”

“We won’t necessarily communicate in person,” said Castiel. “But if that becomes necessary, he’s…” A pause. “He’s one of the more moral king’s hell has had,” he finished, a touch awkward. It wasn’t saying much, really; the moral bar for hell was so low you wouldn’t even have to worry about tripping on it, but it was true. As kings went, Crowley was a far cry from Lucifer, Azazel or Lilith.

Kelly trailed her hand up to his shoulder. “That doesn’t really inspire confidence in me, but I trust you wouldn’t put any of us in danger.”

“I won’t be long,” he assured her. “And I’ll hear you, if you pray to me. Remember that.”

“I will,” she said, then she fell away, returning to preparing the nursery.

The only reliable way he could contact Crowley was through a phone. Lacking his own, that meant using a pay phone, calling Crowley’s mobile number, and hoping numbers that weren’t in Crowley’s contact list could even reach him. If calling didn’t work, he could try to get the ingredients necessary to summon Crowley. But try was the operative word, because some of the ingredients needed to summon Crowley were the sort of thing only time or a well-stocked armoury could supply, which were two things he was currently short on.

He took the car into town and shuffled into a phone booth on the outskirts. The change dispenser had been torn off and the receiver looked like it’d seen better days, but when he set the phone against his ear and inserted four coins, he did hear a dial tone. He pressed in Crowley’s number and glancing out into the darkening sky as he waited for something to happen.

“Yes? Who is this?”

Castiel’s heart began to thrum madly the moment he heard Crowley’s voice. The fact it was Crowley’s child too hadn’t really felt real until this moment, until he was seconds away from unveiling its existence. He swallowed, and the sound must have been audible because Crowley spoke again.

“You’re going to be a lot more nervous if you don’t tell me who you are and why you’re interrupting my evening.”

“Crowley,” said Castiel, with difficulty. “It’s Castiel.”

A long pause, and then a breath- probably a sigh. “Feathers. Last I heard, you up and ran off with the devil’s spawn.”

“His name is Jack,” said Castiel, a little annoyed, though he understood Crowley’s reservations about the child. “I’m… calling you about names, in fact.”

“What? You need one? Someone caught your trail?”

“No.” Again, like with Kelly, his approach floundered, and he had to spend a good minute going over what information he needed to convey before he figured out how to continue. “Have you ever considered names for a daughter?” Not the most sensitive of approaches, but it was better than leaping right into announcing his pregnancy, he thought.

There was a moment of stunned silence. “I beg your pardon?”

“Names. For a daughter.”

“What’re you on about? You just called the devil’s spawn _Jack_.”

“This isn’t about Kelly’s child. It’s about ours,” said Castiel, awkwardly. “I’ve been uncertain of how to name her.”

Another silence, longer than the last. “Castiel,” said Crowley finally, speaking slowly. “What you’re suggesting isn’t possible. Demons have managed to impregnate humans exactly _twice_ in their entire existence, and for a demon to impregnate an angel – it just isn’t possible.”

“It shouldn’t be,” said Castiel. “But it happened.”

Crowley took a sharp breath. “How? _How_?”

“The usual way pregnancy happens, Crowley.” He pressed a palm over his eyes, weary. “Why it worked, I couldn’t tell you.”

“How long have you known?” asked Crowley. 

“She presented a little over a week after our last rendezvous,” said Castiel. Working with heaven again had been stressful, and Crowley had helped ease through use of his mouth and fingers and by bending Castiel over the arm of a couch. “So it’s been twelve days since then.”

He heard Crowley take a shuddering breath. “It’s been twelve days since you found out about her, and you didn’t think to _call me_?”

“I’m calling you now.”

On the other end of the line, there came the tinkle of ice into a glass, the splash of liquid being poured; whiskey on the rocks, undoubtedly. “If you’re naming her, I assume that means you’re intending to keep her.”

“If I can put my faith in a child born of the devil, I can put my faith in our child.”

“Our child,” said Crowley, still sounding like he couldn’t quite believe it. “You wanted… naming advice?”

“Input,” Castiel corrected him. “From her father.”

“She has two fathers.”

“I’ll be going by something else. Maybe ‘dad’.”

“Ah.” Crowley gave a laugh, more than a little strained. “Will her birth kill you?”

“No,” said Castiel, and he wondered if the odd, breathy sound Crowley made on the other end was one of relief. If it was, he doubted Crowley would tell him if he asked. “I’m an angel. I can handle the birth.”

“Good,” said Crowley. “Now, where are you? I want to see you.”

“I can’t tell you that,” said Castiel, sweeping his eyes across the darkened landscape, nervous of any eavesdroppers.

“Too bad. You’ve just told me you’re with child- _my_ child. You owe me this.”

“Crowley, I can’t, I can’t let anyone-“

The snarl that climbed up the line startled Castiel. It’d been a long time since he’d heard such aggression from Crowley. “You can’t announce to me that I have a _child_ and then _keep it from me_! Tell me where the bloody hell you are.” And then, in a slightly more measured voice, “I won’t do anything to the devil’s spawn, if that’s a concern. I don’t give a rat’s ass about them- I want _my_ child and the one holding her. I deserve to be there.”

“Crowley,” he began, but Crowley spoke over him.

“No, don’t you dare do this to me. Don’t you _dare_ call me to ask input on names for our unborn daughter and then tell me I can’t see either of you!” He was shouting now, his voice booming even over the pay phone, loud enough that a human would have had to tilt the receiver away to tolerate it. “Give me a location, Castiel, or I’ll send every demon in my arsenal looking for you. I won’t stop until I find you. You hear me, Castiel? I won’t stop. I’ve already lost my son; I won’t let you deny me my daughter!”

The mention of Gavin disquieted Castiel. He knew the boy had been brought to the present and slipped seamlessly into the modern age; he knew, though Crowley hadn’t been able to forge a proper relationship with him, that Crowley had been content just knowing he was alive and happy; he also knew Gavin was now dead.

Denying Crowley access to his daughter would have been cruel before Gavin had died, but it would be exceptionally so now, knowing of Crowley’s loss.

He wiped his hand down his face and tilted his head up, staring at the filthy ceiling of the call box.

“I promised Kelly that she and Jack would be safe,” he said. “I need to keep that promise.”

“Bring me in on it, then,” said Crowley, breathless, but calmer. “I’ll do a damn _deal_ if I have to. Just don’t- don’t deny me this, Castiel.”

After a long, quiet moment, Castiel made a decision. “We’ll make a deal, then.” For peace of mind, he needed an assurance. He needed to know Jack and Kelly would be safe from harm or interference, particularly as Crowley had every reason to be interested in the birth of Lucifer’s son.

From Crowley’s end came the sound of a glass being drained. “Splendid,” he said, smacking his lips. “Now, your location?”

“The deal, first.”

He was given the distinct impression Crowley was massaging his temples. “You’re bearing my child. I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize our arrangement.” Reluctantly, Crowley continued. “But we can do the terms over the phone. We just can’t seal it, unless you’ve gained the ability to kiss through phone lines recently.”

“Are there no… rituals we could do?” asked Castiel.

Crowley gave the audible equivalent of a shrug. “Paint a devil’s trap, if you like. I’ll voluntarily appear in it.”

To volunteer to be vulnerable was quite a demonstration of commitment, so it was with greater confidence in his decision that Castiel continued. “We’ll do the terms now and the kiss when you get here,” he said. “No devil’s traps.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

Castiel thought over how to word the deal, slipping further coins into the machine when it began to beep. Crowley didn’t interrupt. Just sat quietly, patiently – or impatiently, just not visibly or audibly so. The sound of sloshing liquid indicated Crowley had decided to soothe himself with another glass of Craig.

Then, finally:

“I want your assurance you will communicate to no one our location. I want your assurance we will be completely safe from demon interference.”

“It’ll have to be deliberate interference,” said Crowley. “Can’t very well ensure safety from demonic beings that might just… stumble upon you.”

“That won’t happen.”

“All the same, I’m not going to be held responsible for any misfortune that befalls you that’s not by my hand.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Fine. Am I assured of your silence?”

There came a brief pause. “Everyone is looking for you, I’m sure you’re aware. Allies included.”

“Sam and Dean are currently not my allies,” he said. “They’re a threat to Kelly’s child. You will not tell them our location.”

“Fine, fine,” conceded Crowley. “Any other requests you’d like to sprinkle in?”

“Less sarcasm would be nice.”

“No,” said Crowley, and then he continued, sarcastically: “I hereby solemnly swear to maintain my silence on the whereabouts of Kelly and Jack Kline, my own child, and my vexing little beau. Amen.”

Castiel leaned his forehead into the phone booth glass, contemplating his terrible taste in men.

“Does that hold?” he asked.

“I did say ‘solemnly swear’,” said Crowley. “So, location?”

He provided his coordinates and set the phone on its cradle, ignoring any change that spilled onto the ground and stepping out into the chilly night air to wait. It wasn’t more than a minute later that Crowley appeared a few scant feet from him, still holding his glass of Craig.

“Well,” he said, stepping steadily closer. “ _That_ was like pulling teeth.”

Once Castiel was within reach, Crowley grasped him firmly by the jaw and hauled him down, drawing Castiel into a kiss that had more teeth than lips and delivering a harsh bite before he withdrew. It left Castiel’s mouth throbbing and the taste of whiskey on his tongue. If _that_ kiss hadn’t sealed the deal, he didn’t think anything else would have.

With Crowley so close, his heart had started thrumming again, vibrating in his throat. Unsure of what to say, he decided instead to reach forward and curl his fingers light around Crowley’s wrist, tugging him closer. Crowley regarded him curiously, but didn’t try to pull away, and his gaze was guided slowly down as Castiel hitched up his shirt and pulled Crowley’s nimble fingers beneath it.

“Cas, really? _Here_? I know your hormones must be something extraordinary right now, but we’re in public.”

Castiel cast him a dry look before pressing Crowley’s palm firm over his belly, where he knew the warmth to be emanating.

“Can you feel her?” he asked.

Judging by Crowley’s expression, he could. Wide eyes, parted lips, something like wonder on his face, and he was clearly mesmerised, unable to tear his eyes away even after several minutes had passed in silence. His thumb moved in a slow semi-circle just under Castiel’s bellybutton and his fingers curled slightly, like he was trying to feel for the little life-form they’d created together.

Standing there in the cold with his shirt hitched up, the King of Hell bent close, and one of Crowley’s hands closed over Castiel’s belly, Castiel was oddly content. Considering how much he’d worried over this meeting, he was surprised by that. He’d thought this would be difficult, painful- and it was, a little, but mostly it was just pleasant to have all three of them occupying the same place. Most of all, it was reassuring to know they both wanted this child.

A lack of love had shaped the man Crowley had become. He was a former drunkard who’d sold his soul for a few extra inches of cock, abused his son, become a crossroads demon, and had ultimately ascended to become the King of Hell. He was a man who had done unimaginably cruel, evil things throughout his existence, and a man who – against his very nature, against everything that had collided to make him what he was – was clearly prepared to love this child, to give it a love he’d never had.

Castiel set a hand over Crowley’s shoulder, and that jarred him enough that he finally looked up at Castiel. His hand fell away and he straightened, turning away as if self-conscious. And maybe he was. Castiel hadn’t thought Crowley had the capacity for such a thing, but this was a unique situation.

“Names,” he said, wetting his lips and reaching over to set his glass of drink on the hood of Castiel’s ute. “Anything on the mind?”

Castiel tucked his shirt back into his trousers and shook his head. “I wasn’t sure if I should give her a feminine one or a gender neutral one.”

“Why a gender neutral one?” asked Crowley, head turning to send Castiel a cocked eyebrow.

“In case she decides she isn’t a girl,” said Castiel. “Like Jimmy.”

Crowley snorted. “That isn’t hereditary.”

“Suggest something, then,” said Castiel, crossing his arms. “Every angel was born aware of their name, so this isn’t my forte.”

Crowley brought his fingers to his chin, stroking them along the thick bristles there. “If I hadn’t had a son, I would have called my daughter Grace. I grew up Christian, unfortunately.” A corner of his mouth rose. “But it seems appropriate.”

Grace. It did feel a suitable name for a being who had been conceived against such unfathomable odds. She was a contradiction of their very natures, their very biology; she’d fought an incompatibility that had reigned since the conception of demons, and she had won, clawed her way into existence. She’d graced them with her.

“Grace,” he said, testing the name. It sounded different as a name. He nodded. “We’ll call her Grace.”


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the feedback so far! ♥

Following their conversation, Crowley began dropping in every few hours to check on him. He would usually announce himself by sliding a hand around Castiel’s waist or drawing him into a kiss, then he would totter around praising and criticising various areas of the cabin, muttering about things he thought needed a fresh coat of paint or fixtures that needed modernising. Castiel took some notes. Privately, of course, so to not give Crowley the satisfaction of knowing he was taking his advice.

Sometimes, he arrived with one of the items he insisted they needed. At first, it’d been household items: a coffee table to replace the scuffed up and rickety one currently occupying the lounge, a kettle that didn’t need to be heated on the stove, some fresh pots and pans, a radiator, and once he started to run low on household items he could provide, Crowley began edging into baby orientated things. Very slowly, which made it clear that, as enthusiastic as he’d initially been about the pregnancy, he was approaching fatherhood on cold feet.

After a few days, he presented something called a ‘Musical Mobile’ to Castiel. It had five toys hanging from strings, and when he flicked a switch, it slowly rotated, playing soft, soothing music with each of its rotations.

“It has six options for sound,” said Crowley, and Castiel detected a hint of pride in his voice. He knew better than to tease Crowley about it.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the device from him to set it by Grace’s crib. He’d have to buy one for Jack when next he was in town. “I’m sure she’ll enjoy it.”

“Of course she will. Infants aren’t hard to please,” said Crowley. He leaned his shoulder against the door frame, watching Castiel putter around the room. “Do you have any idea when you’ll be popping out the little tyke?”

It was the first he’d asked, and Castiel heard the trepidation in his voice. He wished he could have said he didn’t share that fear.

The world would soon be introduced to the product of an angel and demon, and on top of not knowing what to expect from that, her parents were going to be a renegade angel and the King of Hell. The idea was laughable. It was absurd, and yet here the King of Hell was- here _Crowley_ was, handing his renegade angel supplies because he wanted his daughter to be happy and provided for.

And that wasn’t even touching on Jack, the product of a union that was only slightly less surprising and considerably more concerning.

“A Nephilim needs only five months to gestate. Cambion’s require the full nine months. It might be somewhere in the middle.” He lay a blue blanket dotted with clouds into Jack’s crib. He thought it suited the mural Kelly was working on, though so far she had only pencilled on the outline. “But that’s just a guess,” he added, turning back to Crowley. “It may be sooner; it may be later.”

Crowley pressed a sigh through his teeth. “Just as uncertain as everything else about this conception.” 

“We know her sex and name.”

“Which is a fraction of what we _need_ to know,” said Crowley.

Castiel said nothing to that, and after some silence had passed, Crowley stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. They were still able to hear Kelly wandering throughout the house, but with only a human sense of hearing, she wouldn’t be able to hear them.

“You don’t think you’re too in over your head, raising the daughter of the King of Hell _and_ Satan’s spawn?” asked Crowley.

“His name is Jack,” said Castiel stiffly, defensively. He couldn’t blame Crowley for having hostilities after all Lucifer had put him through, but the child was innocent. It was not Jack’s fault, and certainly not his choice to be related to the devil.

Crowley threw up his hands in a placating gesture. “Fine. Jack,” he said, glancing into Jack’s crib, brow furrowed. “This is just a lot to take on, Castiel. Everyone will want them. Dead, most likely.”

“I’m aware, and I’ve already accepted the task.”

Crowley tongued his bottom lip for an abnormally long time before he spoke again. “You know, I could arrange for you to be-“

Castiel didn’t need to hear the rest to know what the proposition was going to be. “I’m not going to move from here,” he cut in, allowing no room for argument. He’d known Crowley would try to convince him to relocate eventually. The only thing that surprised him was that it’d taken this long for Crowley to propose it.

Crowley sighed and rolled his shoulders. “The offer is always there,” he said, coming to stand at Castiel’s side. “Should all of this get too much, I can always find assistance.”

Castiel ran his fingers beneath his eyes and shook his head. “I’m aware this isn’t ideal. I’m aware I may need to move frequently to avoid harm befalling myself or them, but I’m going to raise them away from the influence of hell or heaven to the best of my ability.”

“That’s a monumental task for one angel,” said Crowley.

“I have you, don’t I?” It was a sincere question, accompanied by an inquisitive glance.

Crowley paused, his throat bobbed, and then he slid his hands into his coat pockets and said: “You’ve had me for a long time, angel.”

* * *

By the morning of day three, Kelly had finished painting not only Jack’s mural, but one for Grace too. She’d chosen a tree in a sweeping field for Jack, and a bright blue sea with colourful fish for Grace. She expressed a desire to paint the cots too, but at this stage of pregnancy, she was finding it a struggle to hold herself up, her legs trembling and back forcefully hunched, and Castiel insisted she leave that task to him.

“But you’ll already have so much work,” she said, and Castiel didn’t miss the moisture drying on her cheeks and fingers. She’d been crying a lot more as they approached the end, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to walk in on her stroking her belly and spilling tears. To bring Jack into the world brought her so much joy, but to know she wouldn’t be present to raise him brought an equal amount of pain. He couldn’t imagine it, the pain of knowing you would never get to hold your baby, watch them grow up, get to love them the way only a mother knew how.

“I’m an angel, Kelly,” he told her, thumbing away the tears on her cheeks and offering a small, warm smile. Kelly returned it on instinct, tittering at herself. “I wouldn’t be much of one if I couldn’t handle housework and child-rearing when humans so seamlessly accommodate children into their lives.”

“Well,” said Kelly, giving a sniff. “I wouldn’t say it’s _seamless_.”

While Kelly busied herself with removing the packaging from a USB drive Castiel had purchased during his last trip into town, he retreated to the kitchen to start breakfast. He didn’t manage to make much progress on Kelly’s toast before Crowley made an appearance. He didn’t announce himself with his usual grace, instead tugging Castiel over to the back door and sweeping an arm toward a large, jagged split in the fabric of time and space, which momentarily stole Castiel of his breath. He had some vague idea of how it might function, but he was still tentative as he stepped into their back yard, the light spilling from the rip preternaturally cold as it danced across his face. The power it radiated thrummed through him, made his abdomen – particularly the being developing in it – ache.

The boy wasn’t even born and he was already performing unimaginable feats.

“Whao, whoa,” shouted Crowley, hauling him back by a handful of his coat before he could make contact. “What the bloody hell are you doing? Were you just going to walk right into it?”

Castiel glanced at Crowley, then again to the rip. “That seems the fastest way to figure out where the rip leads.”

“You’re with child,” said Crowley, giving him a smack to the back of his head, which was hard enough to be felt but soft enough that Castiel only grunted in response. “Learn some self-preservation, for goodness sake. _I’ll_ go.”

“Are you sure?” asked Castiel. “It could be dangerous.”

“Oh, now you realise that? Not when you’re about to endanger yourself and my child?” Crowley gave an exasperated, over-dramatic roll of his eyes and approached the rip. “Besides, between the two of us, I’m the only one who still has wings, of a sort. Things go awry, I’m better able to get out of there- wherever _there_ is.”

It wasn’t an arrangement Castiel liked; he’d always been the one to lead the charge and he remained the stronger of the two of them, but he could see the logic in it, so he reluctantly stood back. “If you’re in there longer than ten minutes, I’m heading in.”

“I’ll be brief,” Crowley assured him, then he reached out, skating fingers over the cold of the rip, and he was gone, swallowed up in a flash that made Castiel’s retinas ache.

He stood locked in place and waited, counting down each passing second and growing steadily more uneasy. Crowley was a perfectly capable man, and he had, as he’d said, his ‘wings’ to get him back should he need to make a quick escape. Even so, Castiel couldn’t seem to shake off the worry. He worried about him in much the same way he often worried about Sam and Dean – how far their relationship had come, and so it ought to have, considering he was bearing the man’s child.

If he focused, he could almost smell something beyond the rift. Just dirt, dryness, nothing particularly interesting, but it had him itching to peek through the veil. He wrinkled his nose and glanced back at the house, faintly aware of Kelly murmuring something, perhaps recording the message for Jack she had said she would earlier. For the sake of privacy, he made sure not to listen; it was something he’d gotten good at over the years, having often tuned out while the Winchester’s were having private talks. 

A flash of light brought his attention back to the rip, which Crowley now stood before with dirt dusting his knees and shoes. He gave them a brush before approaching Castiel.

“Well, the bad news is, little Jack has managed to make a rip to a universe where the war between Lucifer and Michael went ahead,” said Crowley, which was news that felt rather like a physical blow. Castiel eyed the rip apprehensively. “Michael won, according to a familiar face in there, but it’s not much of a paradise. Just sort of… overcast, with an abundance of sand, and many, _many_ hostile angels and demons.”

’Bad news’ was a grievous understatement. Anything occupying that place, all those angels and demons, could easily filter into their own world, and Castiel’s mind was already whirring with ways they could prevent such a breach. The child would close it once born, he was sure, but it might not happen for hours- days, if they were unlucky enough to be off schedule, and if they had noticed the rip, no doubt the demons and angels soon would. This was a fresh new world for them to inflict themselves on.

“As for good news,” Crowley pressed on, undeterred by Castiel’s silence. “In the demon and angel infested wasteland their earth was reduced to, some humans escaped the wholesale slaughter, so extinction won’t happen for…” He twisted his lips. “I don’t know… another two to three years or so, give or take.”

Castiel turned a frown on him. “That’s _good_ news?”

“Relative to their circumstances,” said Crowley, shrugging.

Castiel slid a hand into a pocket, fingers grazing the handle of an angel blade. He was going to need to keep an eye on the rip to ensure nothing got through. Assuming he wouldn’t simply be overpowered, that was.

“Who was the ‘familiar face’ you spoke of?” he asked.

“Bobby Singer.”

“Bobby.” Castiel stared hard at the rip. “He didn’t come with you?”

“And abandon his comrades?” said Crowley. “Perish the thought.” 

The potential to save the remaining humans flittered through Castiel’s mind- and so did the consequences if their efforts were seen by the wrong people. The demons might not be able to do much, but the angels there were undoubtedly still at full power, still had archangels among them, and being found by them could spell the end of their own world. He’d no doubt all of this was obvious to Bobby, and if Castiel approached him with a plan, he’d also no doubt Bobby would say no. He could just imagine it, his gruff voice as he said, ‘I’m not gonna hand those feathered bastards _another_ world on a platter’.

Crowley snapped his fingers, drawing Castiel from his thoughts.

“I know what you’re thinking, Feathers, and it’s not going to happen.”

“I know,” said Castiel, turning to the house. “The child opened the door. He’ll-“ His voice faltered when he noticed Kelly had fallen silent, a series of slow, stumbling footsteps the only noise audible now. “He’ll close it,” he finished, distracted.

“The infant?” said Crowley, incredulous. “You can’t be sure of that. We need to look into alternatives.”

“I have faith.”

“Because faith is ever reliable,” said Crowley wryly. “Didn’t seem to do much for the residents of Apocalypse land, did it? So I’ll be looking into another means of closing it.”

“Looking where?” asked Castiel, still eyeing the house, listening for movement. Kelly was in a hallway and now taking short, laboured breaths. Usually he would attribute that to physical exertion, but she’d barely moved.

“Nowhere near the Winchesters,” Crowley assured him. “I’ve more contacts and resources than you can imagine, kitten. This won’t take…” His voice lapsed into a momentary silence when Castiel started for the back door. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he told Crowley as he passed him. “I think… I think Kelly may have gone into labour.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Crowley groaned. “Always with the worst timing.”

“Good timing,” Castiel corrected him. “The child healed me and protected me. He will close the gate.”

“So you say, but I’ll be off regardless.”

Castiel didn’t look back to see if Crowley had gone. He shouldered his way through the back door and into the kitchen, hurrying up the stairs to where he could hear Kelly breathing raggedly and bracing herself on a wall. She startled when he touched a hand to her shoulder.

Getting her set up in the bedroom didn’t take long. He propped up some pillows behind her, laid down a towel, and made sure she was comfortable and warm. This entire process could take as long as eighteen hours, according to his doula class, so they likely had a long wait before the delivery. Unless the rules were different for a celestial being; he couldn’t say.

He perched himself next to her on the bed with a copy of a book Kelly hadn’t quite managed to finish reading. She was in no state to read herself, so for the next few hours, Castiel would be doing it for her. With the book flattened over his knees, he was able to both read and offer her a hand, which she gratefully took, her fingers trembling over his knuckles. He read slowly so she was able to absorb every word despite her condition, and he periodically ran his thumb just under her wrist to soothe her shakes.

Time passed slowly as they sat there together. Kelly’s child emitted a greater energy with each hour that passed, and outside he could feel the rip fluctuating, trembling, and occasionally Castiel had to glance out just to make sure it hadn’t gotten larger. It hadn’t, though the more it fluctuated the more it was likely to be noticed by the wrong people.

“Castiel,” said Kelly quietly, and Castiel snapped his head back around to face her. “You know, I’m… I’m happy about Grace. I’m relieved, honestly.”

Castiel tipped his head, offering a gentle, encouraging smile.

Kelly had to take a few shuddering breaths before she could continue. “I know Jack won’t be able to… do things other kids can. Go to school or do play dates. I know. So I’m glad he’ll have Grace, a little sister. Someone his own age to play with and learn alongside.”

“I’m sure they’ll make each other happy,” said Castiel, then he chuckled. “And mad with equal regularity, as is standard among siblings of all walks.”

“Naturally,” said Kelly, her gaze warm. “It… it makes it easier to go, knowing you’ll all have each other. Even the, well… King of Hell, which is a little odd.” A titter. “He doesn’t seem as awful as you would expect someone with that title to be. That new kettle is from him, right?”

“Among other things,” said Castiel. “Fatherhood seems to have brought out his generous side.”

“Do you think he’ll be a good father?” asked Kelly.

It took Castiel some time to reach an answer to her question. “I think,” he said, speaking slowly. “It’s not something that will come naturally to him, being what he is, and having had the experiences he’s had, but I have enough faith in him to wait and see.”

“Faith,” murmured Kelly. “I suppose an angel would find that easy.”

His smile turned tight-edged, pained. “You would be surprised.”

Kelly opened her mouth without saying anything; didn’t seem to know what to say, and eventually she ended up closing it and threading their fingers together instead, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. Castiel responded by hunching forward to press a kiss to her forehead, lips meeting warm flesh dotted with sweat.

“Faith doesn’t come easy, even to some angels,” he murmured, mouth catching on her hair. He dropped back to tuck a few of those floating strands behind her ear. “But that’s how I prefer it. To have faith out of feeling, rather than instinct.”

It was painful, to need to generate one’s own faith instead of simply having it, but Castiel had come to appreciate even the painful parts of having autonomy. No matter how painful and devastating this life could be at times, he never would have been able to return to what he once was, to the mindless soldier he’d been before the Winchester’s had come along and widened the crack in his chassis into a chasm; a crack heaven could no longer fill to make him compliant.

“Angels…” Kelly shook her head, a bemused smile playing across her face. “The bible got a lot wrong about you guys, huh?”

Castiel gave a huff of amusement. “The bible got a lot wrong in general, I’m afraid.”

“Well, probably a good thing,” said Kelly. “What with… mixing fabrics and working on a Sunday apparently being sins and all.”

Having been present for the conception of the scripture, Castiel could confidently say those were two of the least bizarre parts of the bible. That was the problem with using Prophets to record scripture: they weren’t always precise, and often they let their biases and experiences coloured their writing.

“Yes, some of the things regarded as sins are… highly questionable and have no bearing on one’s final judgement,” said Castiel. “There will probably be new scripture written, one day. Ideally, with fewer routes to sin.”

“There’s no guarantee we wouldn’t make up the routes if we felt it didn’t have enough,” said Kelly.

“A salient point.”

It wasn’t until several hours later that Kelly’s pressure waves deprived her of the ability to follow a conversation. They were close together now, each one fluctuating the rip. Kelly was only vaguely conscious of his presence through the climbing pressure, so Castiel skated his thumb over Kelly’s knuckles in encouragement and let her grip vice-like onto his hand.

She was so close. Even without glancing out the window, he could feel the rip spasming, could even see it when particularly strong contractions sent light spilling through the curtains. If Kelly noticed, she didn’t comment on it. Just stared ahead, face pink and hairline slick with sweat.

Her eyes suddenly blew wide, and Castiel worriedly leaned closer, one hand rising to the slope of her stomach in hopes his grace might be able to soothe her. 

“I’ll try to make this more bearable, Kelly. Hold on to me.”

“Oh Cas, you’re really coming through as a nanny.”

Castiel jolted upright, turning just in time to receive a fist to the jaw. He went slamming into the bedside table hard enough to send the thing tipping over and landed in a splay of limbs on the ground, blood spilling over his bottom lip from a cut he’d inadvertently torn into the skin of his cheek. Before he could even think to rise, strong hands hauled him upright, pushed him into the wall, and started pummelling at his various vulnerable areas; his face, his stomach, his sides. Bones broke and blood vessels ruptured. 

“But I don’t remember asking,” hissed Lucifer.

Through it all, he was barely able to alight his eyes on Lucifer’s face, the malicious red of his irises the only detail that wasn’t blurred by the assault. Faintly, over the blood swimming in his ears, he heard Kelly screaming for him, and he struck out through the coalescing agony, sending Lucifer’s head snapping back and the fist in his coat loosening just enough for Castiel to stumble out from under the man.

He caught himself on the wall and fumbled an angel blade out of his coat, breathing hard and curling an arm protectively over his middle.

“I won’t let you hurt them,” he spat, and Lucifer snarled.

“Hurt them? That is _my_ son, Castiel!”

He swept across the room and Castiel readied the blade, taking aim on Lucifer’s middle. Lucifer was formidable in a rage, but it made him more prone to leaving openings.

“The entire world will want him, and you think you could protect him? _You_?” he continued, glancing back at Kelly, who was hunched over now, breathing raggedly, her fingers tangled and white around the bed sheets.

“You’ll destroy him,” said Castiel. “Corrupt him.”

Lucifer scoffed. “Funny, from my perspective, that’s what _you_ want to do.” He ventured closer, barely giving Castiel’s weapon a glance. “I mean, _I’m_ the dad; I think I have a greater right to making that accusation.”

“How are you even here?” Castiel sidestepped to keep distance between them. “We sent you back to the cage.”

“You tried,” said Lucifer, shrugging and pulling a face. “Then your side-piece had the brilliant idea to throw me in a cage of his own instead.”

“My-“ He swallowed thickly. “Are you speaking about Crowley?”

“Who else?” asked Lucifer. “And don’t try to deny it, Castiel. Hell gossips: it’s _all_ some of Crowley’s charges do. No great eye for loyalty on that one.”

“He wouldn’t,” Castiel insisted. “He wouldn’t put you in a cage you had any potential to escape.” He had the greatest self-preservation instinct of all of them.

“Not deliberately,” said Lucifer. “That’s kind of your little groups trademark, isn’t it? Thinking you’re doing the right thing, the smart thing, and being proven wrong time and time again?”

The question left Castiel before he could stop himself: “What did you do to him?” He didn’t want to know. He had to protect Kelly, protect Jack. He had to keep focus.

Lucifer feigned an expression of sympathy. “Make an educated guess.”

“No, he- he always-“ Castiel’s fist shook around the blade. Crowley was as much a cockroach as he’d accused the Winchester’s of being; he always found his way back to them, back to Castiel.

He raised the blade higher as Lucifer came closer. No matter what position he was in, he always kept one eye on Kelly, watching as she panted and strained and an ethereal light developed on the surface of her distended belly.

“Fraternising with demons.” Lucifer circled him slowly, his gaze trailing down Castiel’s body, to the arm folded over his stomach. “I felt something in you- don’t tell me it’s _his_? Because I was _really_ banking on Dean.”

Castiel tightened his jaw, molars scraping together, and that was answer enough for Lucifer.

“Oh my dad. Seriously? With _him_?” The anger drained away, replaced wholly by amusement. “What, does he have a big dick or something?”

“We are not talking about this,” Castiel snarled.

“You think you’re in any position to be calling the shots?” Lucifer rolled his shoulders. “But if you’re _that_ eager for another beat down…”

He hurtled forward at a startling speed and slammed a forearm hard into Castiel’s clavicle, sending him careening into a wall. This time, Castiel managed to prevent himself from tipping over completely by catching himself on a knee, and when he turned, it was with the angel blade suspended high enough that it tore into Lucifer when the man went to pin him to the wall. The light in Lucifer’s eyes flickered, went out- but it wasn’t enough. It didn’t give Castiel enough time to get out of reach, and certainly not enough time to grab Kelly and try to flee.

As he stumbled for the bed, one of Lucifer’s hands shot out, fisted itself into the back of his coat, and hauled him back. He wasn’t even able to raise his arms to defend himself before Lucifer had begun on him again, sending him slamming back-first into the floorboards with a punishing, bone-snapping strike to his cheek. His teeth rattled in his skull and blood burst from the corner of his mouth, trickling down over the side of his chin.

“You know, I could get on board with two Nephilim children- or whatever the hell yours is,” said Lucifer, his white, gleaming grin swimming before Castiel’s eyes. “You tried to take my kid; taking yours seems only fair.”

“He’s not yours,” Castiel breathed. “He’s Kelly’s.”

“See, this is exactly the sort of crap I don’t want you filling his head with.”

Lucifer grabbed at his wrists, pulling them over one-another, and Castiel didn’t understand what he was trying to do until the angel blade came down over them. Lucifer had pulled it out, and he returned it by smashing it through Castiel’s forearms, straight down through flesh, bone and wood, pinning him to the floor. The pain lashed up his arms and tore a cry from his throat that was long and loud, persisting until his aching lungs ran out of air.

Above him, Lucifer smiled, cracking his knuckles, and that fist would have undoubtedly come down on him again had a blinding light not interrupted him. It carried with it such immense power that Castiel had to close his eyes against the glare, his entire being throbbing with it, floating in it, untethered from reality for all of a few seconds- and then, all at once, it receded. Darkness fell over his eyelids.

Castiel turned first to look at the bed. His attention was redirected by a shuffling in the corner of the room, where a nude boy sat hunched over his knees, watching them, his eyes wide and too-bright.

“There he is,” said Lucifer, in awe.

“Jack, run,” Castiel shouted, his voice hoarse. “Find Sam and Dean-!”

One of Lucifer’s hands snapped over his mouth, forcing it shut.

“Enough of that,” said Lucifer, nails digging into Castiel’s cheek as he smiled at Jack. “Watch close now, Jack: you’re going to be dealing with a lot of naysayers soon, and your old dad is going to show you how to deal with them.”

Castiel lifted his legs, tried to kick Lucifer off. Lucifer simply reached back and grabbed one of them by the ankle, twisting it hard until something snapped and Castiel screamed into the damp warmth of Lucifer’s palm.

He heard faint movement.

“That’s it,” Lucifer cooed. “Come closer. Get a good look.”

Lucifer gave the angel blade a twist, sending heat searing through his nerves, and Castiel arched up off the floor with a groan. Then came a new pain: not from Lucifer, this time, but from a bellow that shuddered through his eardrums and made his brain rattle around his skull. The entire house shook, the foundations groaning and moving restlessly under the tremendous power of a Nephilim.

Lucifer stumbled off him with a shout of pain and snapped his hands over his ears, but Jack followed him, taking stumbling steps across the floorboards, his hands spidered awkwardly at his sides, like he didn’t quite know how to use them. Distantly, Castiel saw red leaking from Lucifer’s ears, dotting his under-eyes; he saw his pale face contorted with pain, and then there was nothing to see at all, because Lucifer had gone.

The shout tapered off. Slowly, Jack’s shadowed face floated into his line of sight. He looked to be somewhere in his teens.

“Father?”

Castiel spat to his side, clearing his throat of enough blood to speak. “Jack,” he rasped. “Are you alright?”

“I’m…” Jack dropped to his haunches before him, tilting his head curiously and reaching out to place two fingers over the dribble of blood on his chin, smearing it like a curious child. Which he was, despite his appearance. “Castiel? Father?”

“Yes, I am Castiel,” he said, arching his neck to look above him as Jack’s hand ventured up an arm.

“Castiel. My father.”

“I’m not your…” Castiel briefly closed his eyes. “Did Kelly tell you that?”

Jack nodded. “And,” he said, closing his fingers around the handle of the angel blade. His grip faltered when Castiel grunted, but didn’t relent. “And my sister.”

“Grace,” said Castiel. “I’m not your father, but I’m going to look after you and her, Jack. That’s what… that’s what Kelly wanted me to-“ He bit down on his bottom lip when Jack abruptly hauled the angel blade out of him, not wanting to startle the boy by shouting. “T-to do,” he finished, with difficulty.

Holding the angel blade up to the meagre light provided by the window, Jack turned it over in his hands, examining every inch, feeling the dips and rises of it. A gentle hiss left him when he pricked his finger on the end, but he didn’t do anything drastic in response; just put the weapon aside, turning his attention back to Castiel.

“Will the man come back?” asked Jack.

Castiel dragged himself up onto his elbows before answering. “Lucifer? Your Father?”

“My Father?” A puzzled frown fell over Jack’s face. “He hurt you,” said Jack. “I was scared.”

“I’m sorry.” Castiel managed to climb onto his knees, shrugging off his coat and draping it over Jack’s shoulders.

Jack picked at the material curiously. “Why are you sorry?”

“Because I was meant to protect you, and you ended up protecting me.” Castiel guided Jack’s arms into the holes of his coat, drawing it shut. He could hardly leave the house naked. Humans were flustered by nudity (so was Castiel, these days, but he tried not to be). “But I’m grateful. Thank you.”

“I protected you.” Jack seemed to marvel at this information. “And my sister. You and my sister. Mother said-“ Before he could finish, his attention was drawn to the bed, where the placid form of Kelly lay. He disengaged from Castiel then, walking slowly to his mother’s bedside and coming to sit next to her, lightly touching her hand, threading their fingers like he had undoubtedly felt Castiel do with her. “She was afraid.”

Her last moments alive, and she’d thought Lucifer would slaughter her protector and steal her child. It tightened Castiel’s throat, giving his next words a dragging quality.

“She’s in heaven now. Safe and content.”

“Good,” said Jack, simply.

“We… we need to leave, Jack.” Get somewhere far away, somewhere safe. He thought of Crowley, his offer of relocation, safety, and shoved down the pain that generated. “It’s not safe here. Lucifer could return at any moment.”

Jack rose, hand falling away from Kelly’s. “Where will we go?”

“Kansas,” said Castiel. He gently took Jack by the arm, guiding him out the room at a limp and directing him to the exit. It was dark. The rip had faded, presumably repaired through Jack’s conception, and the sun had descended low enough that the average human would have found it difficult to navigate through what little light the moon gave off.

They stepped into the lounge room, and Sam, Dean, and Crowley greeted them with weapons raised.

Castiel stared. Jack stared.

“You,” said Castiel after a short silence had ensued, turning to Crowley. “Are going to explain yourself. _Fast_.”

* * *

Crowley’s explanation did little to sooth Castiel’s anger.

“So, revenge, securing your throne- that was worth Lucifer being free again?” asked Castiel. “Me being endangered? Your daughter being endangered?” 

Crowley touched his fingers to his temples and glanced into the lounge room, where Sam, Jack and Dean were all standing awkwardly, waiting. Due to their deal, Crowley hadn’t been able to tell them where they were, nor offer much in the way of an explanation, and they were still piecing everything together and waiting on Castiel and Crowley to fill in any gaps.

“The cage can be broken into, and there are plenty who would attempt that- even you, if you’ll recall,” said Crowley, turning back to Castiel. “I wanted to use him, then get him off the board, permanently. And I was preparing to do just that before he found a way to turn my efforts against me.”

Considering Castiel had released Lucifer in the first place- albeit, to spare Sam and fight the darkness- it would be amiss of him to hold this too strongly against Crowley. But it would still be some time before he ceased being frustrated by revenge and security of his throne being a factor in the decision.

He exhaled slowly through his nose.

“Your efforts to kill him should have begun the moment you had him,” said Castiel.

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty,” said Crowley, crossing his arms. “Realising that seems like a rite of passage for this little group of ours.”

Castiel couldn’t deny the accuracy of the remark. “Lucifer made a similar observation.”

“Is that an accusation?”

“An acknowledgement.” Castiel let his shoulders droop a little, forced himself into something less closed off. “It’ll take some time for him to recover from the attack. But he will return, and we need to prepare.”

“Your boy didn’t kill him?” said Crowley.

Castiel eyed Jack, who was watching Sam and Dean check their weapons with visible interest.

“Fortunately,” said Castiel. “That isn’t his first instinct when in a hostile situation. He diffused it, then sought to assist me.”

“A real saint,” said Crowley wryly. “Sure the old man is proud, but it would have been convenient had offed the bastard.”

“That’s not something I’m prepared to ask him to do.” The boy wasn’t even a day old. That he’d repelled Lucifer already felt like too much.

Crowley threw up his arms with an exaggerated sigh. “I expected that to be your stance. You lot are allergic to practicality.” Conceding defeat for the moment, he started back toward the boys, hesitated, and turned back around to address Castiel. “Lean down.”

Castiel blinked at him, slowly registering his meaning. “What?” He cast a furtive glance at Sam and Dean. “We can’t do that here.”

“Not for that,” said Crowley, tipping forward with a smile. “No time for the drama it’d result in.” His hand rose to Castiel’s jaw, pulling him down until his face was within easy access. Gently, he grazed a thumb over the rise of one of Castiel’s cheekbones, wiping away the smear of blood there and mending a laceration Castiel’s own healing abilities hadn’t yet reached. It was an oddly affectionate gesture, not something he got from the man often. Maybe a product of guilt.

“He did a number on you,” Crowley murmured, smoothing Castiel’s hair back over his head before releasing him.

“I got in a punch,” said Castiel, clearing his throat and drawing back to his full height.

Crowley made that terrible, frustrating face of his- the one with the half-lidded eyes and cocked eyebrows that meant he was amused. “One? You’re bragging about _one_ punch?”

“I wasn’t… it… he caught me by surprise.” He raised a finger to Crowley. “It’s your fault we were fighting in the first place.”

“Still, _one_?”

“It was a good punch.”

“I’m sure it was.” Crowley gave his cheek a pat and gestured him back into the lounge. “The boys look like they’re getting antsy. We’d better fill them in and continue planning in the Impala.”

As one might expect, squeezing into the Impala with Jack, Crowley, Sam and Dean was a somewhat strange and uncomfortable experience, even with discussing of a plan distracting Castiel from his being trapped between his adopted son and his lover. Jack was quiet, mostly observing, while Crowley idly touched his thigh like this was some little romantic road trip. He would have given the offending hand a chastising slap if it wouldn’t have made it apparent to the other car occupants what Crowley was doing.

The plan was simple enough: they needed to subdue Lucifer and drain his grace. An angel blade wouldn’t kill him, but in a weakened state, it would be able to give them access to his grace, and a grace-less Lucifer could have his well dried and be killed once rendered mortal. The only problem was, this plan hinged on Jack’s participation, and using one’s power involuntarily out of fear was quite different from using it with aim and purpose. To participate in such a plan was asking a lot of a boy who had been born less than three hours ago.

“I could,” began Jack, tentative. “I could try.”

“You don’t have to,” Castiel started, only to be cut off by Crowley.

“And what, pray tell, is the alternative? What other ace do we have up our sleeves?” Crowley rocked his head to the side, casting Jack a look over Castiel. “Besides, the poetic justice alone- how could anyone pass on it?”

“Easily,” said Castiel, stiffly.

“Cas, I- I think he’s right,” said Sam from the passenger seat, twisting in his chair to better address them. He looked at Jack, and his gaze wavered briefly before jumping to Castiel. “This is the only viable plan we have. Ketch said he doesn’t know where the exorcism device is, and even if he did, we don’t have Rowena now and that was our only other viable plan. It’s not great, I know- it’s risky, way more than I’d like, than any of us would like-“ His throat bobbed. “But Jack’s the best hope we have.”

Castiel rubbed a thumb beneath his tired eyes and sighed. He didn’t offer a response, not just yet, because he knew Sam had more he wanted to say.

“He’s protected you twice now,” Sam pressed on, as expected. “I don’t think… your belief and trust in him was misplaced, and I don’t think it will be here either. We just need to offer his direction.” Slowly, he dragged his gaze to Jack, and despite Jack’s parentage, despite him having more reason than anyone to be wary, his eyes were kind. “Right, Jack?”

Jack’s lips curved, the smile so open and innocent that it enhanced his youthful features. “I would like to try.” Then he turned, leaning into what little space was left between him and Castiel. “I would like to try, Father. Please.”

“Father?” mouthed Dean in the rear-view mirror. It was really too much to go over right now, so he offered a slight tip of his head in response, which did exactly nothing to explain the situation but hopefully indicated that he would explain later.

“I’m not your father, Jack,” said Castiel, gently. “You can call me ‘Castiel’.”

Jack head tipped to the side. “Is that what you would prefer?”

“I don’t have a preference,” said Castiel. “As long as you’re aware I’m taking a parental role not because of any biological connection, but because I simply _want_ to be your guardian, you’re free to call me any paternal names you like. I simply don’t want you under the impression that I’m your biological father. It would be deceptive.”

If Jack regarded him as a parent, he wasn’t going to discourage it; the idea warmed him, in fact. But he wanted to make sure Jack understood he wasn’t a biological parent, and that didn’t mean Cas didn’t love him or want him as a part of this family any less. ‘Family doesn’t end in blood’, as a wise man once said.

“I know,” said Jack, to Castiel’s relief. “Lucifer, the man who… who tried to hurt you, and wants to do it again. He’s my father. But mother described a father to me, and the word fits you better.”

Crowley reminded everyone he was there by interrupting, as was often his wont. “Touching, but I think the real problem is how you’re addressing him,” said Crowley. “Castiel’s just not the ‘father’ type. I’m a ‘father’. Sometimes even a ‘daddy’.” He cocked his eyebrows at Castiel, and Castiel only understood he’d said something indecent from the faces Sam and Dean pulled. “But Castiel, he’s more of a ‘dad’.”

“So, I call him dad,” said Jack thoughtfully. “And you father?”

There was a beat of silence, then-

“Why not?” Crowley smiled, the sharpness of it barely perceivable. But Castiel had gotten good at reading his face. “Be sure to use it when we face Lucifer. He’ll be too furious to think straight.”

Castiel couldn’t decide if he should protest or encourage this. In the end, he just turned the conversation to more pressing matters. “He may try to draw us out, so we’ll need to draw him out first. I can-”

“Cas, you’re enemy number one right now,” said Dean. “He wants to kill you more than any of us.”

The intensity with which Crowley looked at him, dark eyes half-lidded and penetrating, had one of Castiel’s hands moving absently to his abdomen, fingers curling loose in his shirt. It wasn’t only his life he risked; he knew that, but he also knew Lucifer was less inclined to dawdle with killing Crowley after his recent failure, and Sam and Dean were too vulnerable to be used as bait.

“I know,” said Castiel. “And that’s why I’ll be able to draw him out.” When Dean pressed his lips together, he added: “I recall what the hyperbolic pulse generator looked like. I’ll make another one. This isn’t the first I’ve attempted to deal with him on my own. He’ll take the bait, remove it from me, and that will give Jack the opportunity to act.”

“Hyperbolic pulse-?” Dean made an ‘ah’ sound. “Right, that. And if he kills you before Jack can act?”

“He won’t,” Castiel assured him. “He’ll probably want to torture me for information on his sons whereabouts first.” Plus, there was Lucifer’s interest in taking Castiel’s child, which he couldn’t arrange if Castiel was dead.

“Is this how all your planning goes?” asked Crowley, a touch biting.

“Crowley,” said Castiel. A warning. “This isn’t up for debate. I will be performing the role I’ve chosen.”

Dean swiped a hand up through his hair and frowned at Jack in the rear-view mirror. There was some suspicion in that gaze, some wariness, but that didn’t stop him from saying: “Fine. We’d better start training junior, then.”


End file.
